your bones are held together by your nightmares and your frights
by orange-yarn
Summary: Jasper, in the week between "Earth Kills" and "Murphy's Law."
1. one

**I was very excited when they jumped a week between episodes 3 and 4, because that meant I could write fic about Jasper recovering from his injury without it getting jossed.**

**Title is from "Pantaloon" by twenty one pilots.**

* * *

one.

You wake up once, that first day. You know where you are, and who you are. You don't know what time it is, or how long you spent actively dying. Whatever, the details don't matter, what matters is, you're not dead, and your friends are here.

Later on you won't remember what they said to you, or what you said to them. You will remember being so stupidly glad to be alive that for just a moment, nothing hurt.

You manage a good minute of consciousness, tops, and then it's lights out. You sleep for the rest of the day.


	2. two

two.

By the second day, you've changed your mind. Being alive actually kind of sucks, because it _hurts_. You remember the pain from before, when you were really sick, but only in a blurry, hazy sort of way. This pain is sharp, and mean, and you almost miss being unconscious.

The good news is, the raging infection has loosened its hold on you, thanks to the totally disgusting seaweed tea Clarke keeps coaxing you to choke down. The bad news is there is still an actual hole in your chest.

You're halfway propped up in your nest of other people's clothes, which is marginally better than lying on your back. Clarke's sitting cross-legged next to you, cupping a handful of berries. They smell sweet, and your stomach turns. You haven't eaten in - you don't even remember the last time you ate, you should be starving, but there's this aching, pulsing throb in your chest, where the spear went in, that pretty well distracts you from everything else.

"You need to eat something," Clarke tells you. She's been crying, but when you asked what was wrong she wouldn't say. You know that something bad has happened, you know because when your friends talk they keep their voices low and don't look at you. You're injured, not stupid.

"Not hungry," you manage, clenching your jaw because otherwise you think your teeth will rattle right out of your skull, you're shaking so hard. You don't think you could keep food down if you tried. Clarke does that thing where she presses the back of her hand to your forehead, like she's checking your temperature, in case the fever crops back up. She's still worried about you. You're still worried about you.

When you sleep, it's fitful and restless, and you wake up tired.

* * *

**Note: I don't think that they would have told Jasper about Wells dying right off the bat, especially because they believed that grounders killed him.**

**Also, the chapters get progressively longer as they go on. I think Jasper would still be sleeping a lot so soon after such a serious injury.**


	3. three

three.

The third day is different. You're alone, for the first time since you woke up. You aren't sure how you feel about that. The hatches in the side of the ship are open, letting light stream through. It's midmorning, and you feel marginally less terrible than you did the last time you were awake. You're more alert, not so foggy and fuzzy. You'll take that as progress.

You feel so not terrible, in fact, that you decide to try and sit up. This is your first mistake. You get yourself a couple of inches off the ground before your body informs you, rather angrily, that moving hurts, a _lot_.

"Yeah, nope," you huff, slumping back down as pain radiates from the wound in your chest, sending shock waves through your muscles. You wonder, not for the first or last time, how you aren't dead.

You're lying very still, waiting for your breathing to even out, when you hear a rustling sound from across the ship. Footsteps echo on the metal, and you're just figuring out that you're not alone after all when Monty crouches down beside you.

"Hey," he says, and he presses the back of his hand to your forehead. He's obviously been hanging out with Clarke _way_ too much.

"See," you tell him, and you scowl because your voice sounds awful, all ragged and scratchy. "This is why I can't die. You won't have any fun without me."

Monty's lips press together, tilting into a frown, and he says, "I'm gonna get Clarke." He's worried, you've worried him. You didn't mean to do that. If you let yourself think about it, you actually start to feel really guilty, because you've put him through a lot these past couple of days, and he has to remember a lot more of it than you ever will.

"No, Monty." You clumsily reach for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. "I'm fine, I'm just - I'm not awake yet. Don't go."

He watches you for a long moment, like he's not sure, and then he nods. "Okay." He twists his hand, and for one awful second you're afraid he's trying to get away, but all he does is lace your fingers together, and settles himself to sit beside you. It's nice. You close your eyes.

You're halfway to sleeping when he says, "You're right. I don't have any fun without you."


	4. four

four.

It's been four days since you stopped dying, and you're finally awake more often than you're not. You think it'll be a while before you're back to trekking through the woods, though. Your chest still aches, a sort of dull soreness that never really goes away. On top of that, you feel worn out, run down. Battling the infection left you drained, lethargic. It's frustrating, feeling like this, but it beats the alternative.

Being alive is still kind of a novel concept. You're half convinced that this is some sort of cosmic mixup, that the powers that be will change their minds and take you back. But Clarke says you're getting better, and you trust her. You would actually be dead if it wasn't for Clarke - she's your new favorite person. She could have given up on you, she could have walked away - she probably should have, since coming after you was stupidly dangerous. She didn't even _know_ you, but she was determined to keep you alive - and from what your friends have told you, she worked pretty hard to do it.

They haven't told you much else. Your friends, you've come to realize, can be very evasive when they want to be.

Something's happened, something's that got everyone on edge. You're not healthy enough to leave the ship - you're not ready to try the ladder - but you can hear people outside, working almost nonstop. You've already figured out that they're building a wall, but what you don't understand is the stifling sense of urgency that's settled over camp. You keep asking questions, trying to find out what's happened, but you're not getting anywhere. Monty gets all squirrelly and changes the subject, and Octavia is sort of distracting. Clarke just flat out refuses to answer.

Finn's the last member of your babysitting retinue, and if anyone's going to clue you in, it's him. He isn't actually around that much - apparently he spends a lot of time out exploring the surrounding woods. You're hoping that means he doesn't know about the conspiracy to keep you in the dark. He hasn't shut you down yet, anyway, so it might be worth a try.

You figure it's better to be direct, so you ask, "Was somebody attacked?" just like that, point blank. "Somebody besides me, I mean."

It turns out that recovering from nearly fatal injuries is actually boring - you've had a lot of time to think, to run through every possible scenario, and this one makes the most sense. You got hurt miles and miles from camp, and not until you crossed a boundary. They're building that wall like they're trying to keep something out.

Finn hesitates for maybe a second. "Yeah. Wells," he tells you, simple as that, and it clicks. _That's_ the name nobody's been saying for the past few days. "He helped bring you back to camp. You probably don't remember."

You shake your head, because you really don't. You feel a little guilty about it, especially since he apparently helped save your life, but to be fair you don't remember much of all that except for Clarke, and _burning_.

Finn says, "He was Clarke's best friend," and there's a flash of memory - just after the crash, Clarke pouring over a map, and you'd laughed, _can I get a bar in this town_, and another boy, telling you-

"The chancellor's kid?" you ask, and Finn nods. You swallow, and ask, "He's dead?" even though you're pretty sure you already know the answer.

"The grounders killed him," Finn confirms. He's frowning, and there's something very much like concern in his eyes. "Right outside of camp." He pauses, like he's giving you a chance to react. The thing is, you don't know how you feel, except for there's this twisting, wrenching feeling in your chest that is less pain and more anxiety. It was bad enough knowing that there were people out there, people that could, and would, kill you without warning. "Clarke didn't want to tell you yet," Finn adds, almost apologetically. "She thought you might, you know. Freak out."

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach, your heart clenches in your chest. You think maybe she was right.


	5. five

five.

You're sitting with your back against the wall - slumping up against it, technically, but you were almost dead five days ago, so who actually cares. Clarke is sitting on her knees in front of you, a collection of medical supplies just off to the side. She leans forward to peel away your bandages, and you do your best to sit still without getting too tense. You're used to the routine by now, and you are ready to get this over with. You know Clarke's just looking after you, but every time anyone gets near the wound you get flashes of memories you're trying very hard to forget - blood on the rocks, the smell of burning flesh.

You shake your head to clear it, and try to focus on this moment, right now. Clarke's got this look of intense concentration as she inspects the injury. Basically it's a burn, patching up the hole the spear carved out of your chest. Apparently the grounders kind of saved your life, after trying to kill you. Clarke told you that if they hadn't cauterized the wound you would have bled out long before you were found. That was considerate of them, you guess. Still, you wish they just could have skipped the spearing altogether. It would have saved you from a whole lot of agony.

You know you've come a long way. A few days ago the wound was still oozing infection, but now it's getting pink and shiny around the edges. For days Clarke's been saying that you're getting better, and you're finally starting to feel like it's true. The worst of the pain has faded away, and now you're just sore, and mostly really, really itchy. Sometimes you almost don't even notice it, except when-

-except when Clarke rests two fingers on the still healing flesh and _presses_, not even very hard, but the pain sort of explodes, a supernova in your chest.

"Oh, wow," you say when you can breathe again. "I felt that, in case you were wondering."

Clarke glances up at your face, you guess judging if you're actually hurting that bad, or just being dramatic. She must decide that you're fine, because she shrugs. "You're healing nicely," she says, replacing the bandage and rocking back on her heels. "If you want to try leaving the ship today, I won't stop you."

"Really?" you ask, and then you get busy tugging your t-shirt back on- slowly, so you don't mess up the bandages, and because lifting your arms above your head is still not fun, so it's kind of a process. Clarke watches you like she wants to help, but doesn't. It's one of the million things you really like about Clarke - she knows when to step in, and when you need to do things for yourself.

She hovers, just a little, as you clamber awkwardly down the ladder for the first time, and she keeps a steady hand on your elbow as you totter out of the ship, which is good, because you probably wouldn't make it very far on your own. You get tired quickly, even with her help, so she sets you down on a log near the campfire.

The camp itself is entirely different from what you remember. The last time you saw it, before you left for that disastrous trip to Mount Weather, it wasn't much more than a crash site. Now there are tents and workstations and a mostly complete wall, made of trees and sheets of metal from the ship. It's supposed to keep the grounders out, but you find yourself thinking that it won't be enough.

You don't want to think about that, though, you don't want to think about any of it, so you look up at the sky instead. It's getting close to sunset, and the clouds above you are pink and blue and gold. You've never seen anything like it. You haven't seen much of Earth, actually, since you got here.

"It's not what I imagined," Clarke says, and her voice snaps you back to the present. She settles down on the log beside you, her arm pressing against yours, and tips her head back to share your view. "But it is beautiful."

It's terrifying, you want to say, because you know what's out there, you've seen it, even if you won't let yourself quite remember it. You know what dying feels like, now, you know how easily that can happen, and how fast. You know that you are fragile, and you know that you don't want to go through what happened to you ever again.

You don't say any of that, though. You breathe in deep, tasting campfire smoke and the autumn breeze. "Yeah," you say, leaning into Clarke's shoulder, just a little. "Yeah, it is."

* * *

**I will update again as soon as I can, but I have several other things in the works - my drabbles, the high school AU, and also I am working on a fic that is basically just Jasper and Clarke on an adventure in the woods because their relationship is VERY IMPORTANT TO ME, so I guess keep an eye out for that sometime this week?**

**Oh right and also I teach children during the week, which means I don't actually have much time for writing, but I do my best! :)**

**Thank you for reading! :D**


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